


A Kiss in the Snow

by Neosiuss



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Snow, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:58:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6096732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neosiuss/pseuds/Neosiuss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a prompt from my rp blog! posted on tumblr, just got around to posting here. prompt was 'a kiss in the snow'. enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss in the Snow

Winter hit Skyhold hard that year. Overnight the snow seemed to pile up, covering the gardens in waist deep snow. It was serene; quiet, beautiful, peaceful.

Unless you were one Dorian Pavus, who before recently had never seen snow before. Then, it was wet, freezing, and miserable. A sneeze rips through him and he presses the palm of his hand to his nose, snuffling through the cold that seems to have gone through the keep and settled on him. It’s freezing inside, and Dorian shivers in his seat. Who decided to make their base in a mountain! Why not a forest–no, too many bugs. He’s lost in his thoughts about better places to station a thousand-plus man army when the chatter of some scouts catches his ear.

“The Commander is running drills in the snow?”

“Yeah–said Corypheus won’t be stopped by snow, neither should we.”

“It’s bloody freezin’ outside! Man’s mad!”

“I know, but we can’t just skip drill practice.”

Their voices fade as the open the door to the battlements, and Dorian shivers again as the breeze rolls through the alcove. Cullen running drills in the waist deep snow? What on Maker’s green earth–the man truly is mad! Against his better judgement, Dorian shoulders a cloak and braves his way into the snow, cursing as the wet slush invades his boots and soaks his socks. “The things I do for this man!”

He follows the sound of metal on metal to find Cullen and his men. They’ve cleared the practice ring of snow (shoveled, probably, by Cullen himself, the sentimental oaf), and are dutifully training away in sub zero temperatures. “Commander!” Dorian shouts over the metal and hopes he’s heard, trying not to stumble and fall into the snow. Gratefully, the man turns to look at him and Dorian sighs, finally reaching the cleared patch of ground to grip onto Cullen’s mantle, tapping his toes on the ground to shake the snow out of his boot.

“Maker’s balls amatus! You’ll freeze out here.” He shivers and huddles close, wrapping his arms around himself.

But Cullen simply smiles at him with those big dumb eyes and turns back to his troops, shouting orders before returning his gaze to Dorian. “We have to be prepared. Snow won’t stop Corypheus or the Red Templar. We can’t let it stop us, either.”

“Yes well that’s all fine and dandy but your poor men are going to freeze their fingers off! How will they hold their swords then?”

A sigh from Cullen makes Dorian feel triumphant. Good, the fool man would finally listen to him. He opens his mouth to brag but stops as the flakes begin to fall, landing softly in Cullen’s hair. “Maker– it’s snowing now! Come in, amatus, you’ll catch your death,”

Dorian waits (patiently, he thinks) while Cullen dismisses his men before the snow gets too bad. It’s absolutely freezing and his cloak is getting wet and Dorian’s feeling quite miserable when Cullen finally approaches him, glancing around to make sure they’re alone before he snakes his arms under Dorian’s cloak to wrap around his waist. Cullen is warm, amazingly so, and Dorian leans into his heat with a sigh. “Finally. I thought you’d actually keep your men out in the snow.”

The Commander simply chuckles and lifts a hand to cup Dorian’s cheek, his thumb sweeping over the mage’s cheekbone to wipe away a snowflake. Dorian’s about to comment on Cullen’s cold hands when there are warm lips upon his.

He makes a surprised noise but returns it, sweet, soft and gentle, his hands pressing flat against the cold metal of Cullen’s breastplate as he leans into the kiss. They exchange nips and sighs, hands wandering over clothes, as heated as their public location will allow. Dorian’s eyes are still closed when Cullen pulls away and they flutter open, eyelashes dusted white with the snowflakes that caught on them.

“Come, amatus, let’s get you inside before you catch your death.”


End file.
